nfinitely gentle--glinting, swaying,
settling silently in the dry mountain air, or massed in flakes soft and
downy. To lie out alone in the mountains of a still night and be
touched by the first of these small silent messengers from the sky is a
memorable experience, and the fineness of that touch none will forget.
But the storm-blast laden with crisp, sharp snow seems to crush and
bruise and stupefy with its multitude of stings, and compels the bravest
to turn and flee.

The snow fell without abatement until an hour or two after what seemed
to be the natural darkness of the night. Up to the time the storm first
broke on the summit its development was remarkably gentle. There was a
deliberate growth of clouds, a weaving of translucent tissue above, then
the roar of the wind and the thunder, and the darkening flight of snow.
Its subsidence was not less sudden. The clouds broke and vanished, not
a crystal was left in the sky, and the stars shone out with pure and
tranquil radiance.

During the storm we lay on our backs so as to present as little surface
as possible to the wind, and to let the drift pass over us. The mealy
snow sifted into the folds of our clothing and in many places reached
the skin. We were glad at first to see the snow packing about us, hoping
it would deaden the force of the wind, but it soon froze into a stiff,
crusty heap as the temperature fell, rather augmenting our novel misery.

When the heat became unendurable, on some spot where steam was escaping
through the sludge, we tried to stop it with snow and mud, or shifted
a little at a time by shoving with our heels; for to stand in blank
exposure to the fearful wind in our frozen-and-broiled condition seemed
certain death. The acrid incrustations sublimed from the escaping gases
frequently gave way, opening new vents to scald us; and, fearing that
if at any time the wind should fall, carbonic acid, which often formed
a considerable portion of the gaseous exhalations of volcanoes, might
collect in sufficient quantities to cause sleep and death, I warned
Jerome against forgetting himself for a single moment, even should his
sufferings admit of such a thing.

Accordingly, when during the long, dreary watches of the night we roused
from a state of half-consciousness, we called each other by name in a
frightened, startled way, each fearing the other might be benumbed or
dead. The ordinary sensations of cold give but a faint conception of
that which c